


She Doesn't Need You Like I Need You

by liquidheartbeats



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, Grief, It's not cheating if it's the same timeline, Time Travel Romance, future iris
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2019-10-03 08:07:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17280260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liquidheartbeats/pseuds/liquidheartbeats
Summary: Barry runs to the future after he disappears to see how Iris has fared without him. She asks him to stay.





	1. Chapter 1

Her skin fades to ivory, like a soul without a body, when their eyes meet. The gun she had aimed at the noise in the shadows falls to the ground, but she doesn’t move a single inch.

Inside, her heart rattles and rages inside of her rib cage, her mind filled with a cacophony of thoughts, all revolving around the fact that the man who’s been trailing her for six blocks, and who’d followed her into her home, isn’t someone who means her harm.

It’s her husband, at least the man who used to be

He moves towards her slowly, careful not to startle her. It takes every single bit of his willpower to not run over to her, and sweep her up into his arms, but he restrains himself, silently commanding his feet to pace themselves.

It’s a bittersweet plight, for this is the first good look at her he’s gotten since he ran to the future and spent days following her in the shadows, trying to learn about the woman tragedy has molded.

The one who works long twelve hour days at the Central City Citizen, then, upon the cover of nightfall, crashes under years worth of pain as soon as she steps foot onto her front porch.

The one gives herself exactly five minutes a day to unleash her agony into her only friend, the soft gentle breeze of the night, before putting herself back together before her night shift job starts, a position she’s held for the past six years: mother of two small children.

Nora and Henry.

The final gift he left her with before his untimely death.

She's just as beautiful as he imagined she'd be. The long, side-swept curls that defined her 20s and early 30s have been chopped up to her shoulders in a long, asymmetrical bob. The pout of her lips still draws him in from more than ten feet away, just like her body, which time has been incredibly kind to.

The high-wasted, hunter green skirt clings to her curves, enhanced by childbirth and time.

But her eyes.

They are haunted with grief, hidden behind the glossy exterior of a woman forced to be ‘on’ for her children’s sake.

They’re the long-fabled of second set of eyes gifted only to those whose spiral into despair is forced inward to protect their children from the demons that come out at night and hug her while she sleeps, whispering to her that she should just go ahead and kill herself.

That her kids won’t miss her because she's only a shell of the woman she used to be. That she has nothing left to give them.

End it all.

“Barry,” she finally says, voice barely above a whisper. It’s both a question and a greeting.

“Yes. From the past.”

She appreciates the confirmation, but she doesn’t need him to tell her that. He’s like a photograph, trapped in a former time, just as handsome as she remembers.

A face she’s not seen in the flesh in too many yesterdays since that speed demon took him from her in a violent flash of light.

A face she loves and despises, both for the memories.

He sees the range of emotions that paint her face, and steps towards her, feeling she’s dangerously close to retreating from him. They don't have much time, for the time wraiths will be after him in no time. And he knows Iris. His Iris, at least, despite her ability to hunt vampires and warlocks without flinching, runs from pain, and heartache.

But this isn’t his Iris. And proving how little he knows this woman, she draws closer to him as well, first stepping easily over the weapon she’d been prepared to kill him with for her babies, who are already fast asleep upstairs, probably flanking her aging father in their nursery bed.

There’s almost stubborn determination in each step like she’s walking upwind of some invisible force telling her that only pain will come from seeing her former lover up close.

As she gains on him, he stops, abrupt.

The fear and painful recognition that had decorated her timeless beauty have melted into an expression he can’t read, a language he’s unfamiliar with.

Sadness marbles the landscape of her visage, but it’s mixed with something else. Perhaps anger. At his audacity to leave her alone to raise their kids. Resentment that she’s moved forward in life, while he remains the picture of unrestricted youthfulness.

But when she finally stands face to face, that scowl that had fueled every step melts into lips whose quiver threatens to register them on the Richter scale, eyes finally free to unleash years and years or repressed tears, and a cry--summoned from the depth of her gut, which rushes up past her internalized trauma and scar tissue, that only proceeds her collapse.

The floor is her target, but he breaks her fall.

“Oh, Iris,” he cries, into her hair. She’s like a slab of concrete against him, not for the mass she occupies, but because she’s weighed down by grief.

His legs give way underneath him, sending them both to the ground, but he doesn’t let her go. Not that he could if he wanted. She’s latched onto him like the imaginary friend you try to catch inside of your dreams, for the second you let go, you awaken back to the cold, callous mundanity of your real life.

And she can’t go back.

Not ever again.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Barry holds Iris tight, tighter than he ever has before.

Her chest heaves, attempting to calibrate itself and make room for her sobs. First, she retches softly, but then it crescendos into guttural roars that threaten to draw unwanted attention to them both.  

In a flash of light, they’re on the rooftop of her condo, far away from her—their—children. He settles with her in the same position as before.

She’s first unmoving.

It’s only the frigid air that cuts through her grief and alerts her to the change in location.

Though it’s been six years since he last swept her up and allowed her to weightlessly defy physics with him, it’s a deliciously familiar feeling, as is the warmth of his elevated temperature.

Slowly, she raises her head up from his chest, coated in red leather, and meets his gaze.  

She knows that looking the living embodiment of the gnawing hole in her heart in the face might not bode well for her, but she also knows that she can’t bear allow this moment to pass. Eventually, he’ll have to go back to the life he shares with her uninhibited former self. She is young and beautiful, and happy.  

He belongs to her, she is his.

His eyes are coated in sympathy, regret for leaving her alone, perhaps, but most of all, love, the latter of which is radiating through every single cell in his body.

She doesn’t need him to say it. She can feel that he loves her just as much as he loved her before she had any laugh lines. Before their babies branded her with stretch marks and slightly sagging skin around her midsection that he’s never been introduced to.

Barry’s silent revelation shocks her to her core.

Her heart rate skyrockets; valves, which have been warded off since his funeral, slowly spring alive, pumping her blood, furiously through her body. Iris takes in a deep breath, attempting to calm herself, then releases it.

It brings some relief, but not enough.

Hand pressed to her shoulder, Barry inhales and exhales with her, until she’s able to draw clear breaths, like a silent coach. He doesn’t know, but it’s the same way he did when she was pregnant with their twins, during her weekly Lamaze classes.

Tears flood her eyes, as the memories of that period of life, resurface.

Though things hadn’t been planned, they were happy, disgustingly so, when she got pregnant. Him especially. He smiled for three months straight, even while cleaning up her puke, and adjusting to the influx of hormones that were affecting her mood.

A fresh round of tears litters her face.

He raises his hand, brushing a thumb over her cheek, smudged now with eyeliner.  

Seeing the depth of her pain, in person, overloads his emotions. Barry knew that losing him, and raising their kids as a single mother, wouldn’t be easy for Iris. But having proof that her despair has rooted itself deep down, able to be summoned at a moment’s notice hurts, almost as much as knowing that the children he had an equal hand in creating, wouldn’t know him from a stranger on the street.

Time has healed absolutely nothing. Time has failed her, just as he did.

“I’m so sorry,” are the only words he can manage at first. He knows that nothing will ever make up for the pain she’s endured without having him there, but he knows he owes her something.  He doesn’t know the exact events that lead to him vanishing, but he knows that it wouldn’t have happened if he’d sat out the fight. If his willingness to face the worst that humanity has to offer wasn’t so damn strong, he could have survived for her, for their children.

She humps her shoulders, for there is no action that better sums up what she’s feeling than the one that represents utter defeat. She already knows he’s sorry. She knows he didn’t want to leave her alone or miss out on raising their kids.  

“I’m sorry too. I’ve missed you so much,” Iris croaks, before pausing, unable to believe she just said those words to him. She shakes her head to herself, angry that she’s allowed herself to access these emotions, but she’s unable to stop. “I love you so much,” she continues.

“I love you too…you of any time, any place,” he adds when her eyes ask for confirmation. “You, who is so much stronger than I ever knew you could be, for yourself…for our kids,”

Her eyes flutter shut, as she savors the affection of the man who has her whole heart, always had, and always would.

He uses the moment to marvel at her. Even six years onward, she’s an image of perfection. “God, you’re still so beautiful,” he says, as he runs a hand through her hair. “So, so beautiful.”

Iris’s eyes pop open at that. Her mouth sits agape, unable to scrounge up an appropriate response. She wants to thank him for resurrecting the part of her that goes hand in hand with blushing and butterflies, wants to tell him how handsome he looks to her, even though he’s benefiting from being immortalized by time.

But no words come, from either him or her.

For the briefest moment, his eyes dip from her face to her body. In this sitting position, her thick, shapely thighs spill out of her green, knee-length skirt. She swiftly pulls it down to cover herself, unsure if he welcomes her post-baby body that, no matter how much she works out, will never return completely to the slender form of her past self.

She has no idea that he loves every bit of the person she’s evolved into, though much of her is a mystery. And that the reason he shifts his gaze away from her figure, is so he’s untempted to cross any lines.

For all intents and purposes, she is his wife; for all intents and purposes, she is not.

It’s clear that she still loves him, painfully clear, but that doesn’t mean that she hasn’t moved on in life. Even if she hasn’t, this him and this her are forever separated by time, even if their hearts are still very much linked.

He has zero right to interfere with her life, or infer about her love life if she has one at all.

Iris resigns herself, noticing the internal battle that’s playing out on his face. There are questions that can be asked, both ways, but there are more urgent matters at hand, like why he decided to leave his happy, intact life with her, to visit her now.

She doesn’t have any room for more grief.

“I needed to see how you were doing,” He answers, aloud, though her query never met the air. His ability to read her, this many years in the future, startles them both, but he continues, “I know I shouldn’t have, and the speed force is absolutely pissed—”

“Time wraiths?” She interjects.

“The nastiest ones I’ve ever seen…” he begrudgingly concurs with a nod, knowing that all the stops the speed force is pulling are necessary because he’s already falling in love with Iris all over again, “But I had to see how you…and my children…are doing.”

“They’re gr—” Iris blinks, realizing he doesn’t even know their names. “Nora and Henry…”

Barry presses his hand to his heart.

“…are great. They’re kind, smart, loving. Well adjusted, all things considered. I put every bit of energy I can scrounge up into them, their happiness. So does my Dad. Cisco. Wally. Even Oliver and Felicity. They’re so, so loved.”

Barry flashes her a teary-eyed smile. Knowing that his children are happy, even without him, floods his body with warmth.

“But they do miss you,” Iris adds, levity gone from her voice. She pauses to find the right words, sweeping her tongue over her lips, “They’re at that age where they’re noticing that other kids have two parents and they don’t. They ask about the man in all of their baby pictures.

"And what do you tell them? Wait,” he says, shaking his head,“ That’s not my business. I trust you’re doing what you think is right.”

“I can only hope,” Iris says softly. “I—” She stops short of completing her sentence, shifting her gaze towards the floor.

“You what?” He asks, tucking his index finger under her chin.

Iris sighs, lifting her eyes in his direction.

The lack of tension unleashes more tears down her face. “I’m barely holding on,” she admits. “Losing you hurts just as much today as it did six years ago. There hasn’t been a day that’s gone by that I haven’t cried,” she continues, before pressing her  face into he hans.

“Oh, Iris.” Barry rises up to his knees and wraps his arms around her.

“I do my best to protect them from this pain I feel,” she says, looking up at him. “They’ve never even seen me cry. But it’s so hard to hold all of this inside. Sometimes, I feel like I’m going to explode, or w—-”

Iris’s phone chirps. She pulls it from her pocket and examines the text message in front of her. Her eyes light up with a concern, as he texts a response into her keyboard.

“Everything okay?”

“It’s dad. I should have been up to relieve him from babysitting duties by now,” Iris says, as she stands. “I need to get downstairs.”

Awkward silence flows between them for a moment, before Barry goes for the obvious: “Can I see them? Our kids?”

Iris starts to protest. Her babies are so far removed from the daily trauma she endures, but she stops herself. She can’t deny this man the right to see his children, nor does she actually want to.

"I’ll be as quiet as a mouse,” Barry assures her, completely understanding her concern. “They won’t even know I’m there.”

“Okay,” Iris agrees, after a moment to ponder further. “After my father goes home.”

##  _**********************************************_

Barry watches Iris approach the twin’s bedroom from a crack in Iris’s closet, located directly across from the hall. With a knock, she alerts her father of her presence.  A moment later, Joe West opens the door. He’s mostly gray and a few pounds heavier than he is in the past, but he looks to be in good spirits overall.

“I was worried about you,” the older man says as he moves aside to allow Iris entrance.

“I’m fine, I just got delayed at work.”

Joe studies her face. “You sure about that? Cause you look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

Iris laughs nervously, forcing a trembling smile across her face. “I am fine, really,” she says, placing a hand on her father’s shoulder.

Joe squints like he can see through her lie.

“So,” Iris says, to change the subject, “did the twins give you any trouble when you picked them up from school?”

“Other than forgetting I’m a tired old man, and sprinting down the sidewalk? No.”

Iris looks fondly over to the twins, who are sound asleep.  “Just…regular sprinting, though right,” Iris says low, probably to keep Barry from hearing, but he does.

On top of everything else, Iris also lives with the daily fear that her kids inherited speed from Barry, that could manifest at any given moment.

Joe laughs, heartily. “Yeah, no sign of…you know.”

Iris breathes a sigh of relief and hugs her father, then walks him to the door for the night.

Once the coast is clear, Barry steps into the hallway. The faux smile Iris put on to keep her father from getting suspicious is gone, but it’s not replaced with a scowl. It reeks of anxiousness and a little bit of hopefulness.

Face to face with him, she asks: “Are you ready?”

Barry nods. With a deep breath, Iris turns and leads Barry into the twin’s room. They’re sound asleep, laid back to back in their twin sized bed, Nora on the left, Henry on the right.

Barry’s breath catches, as he walks up on them. Even asleep, he can see the resemblance: they’re a near perfect blend of him and Iris, though Iris’s natural beauty edges out his features. Nora has brown ringlets, fixed into two low ponytails. Henry’s hair is a mess of nearly blonde curls, that touch almost his shoulders.

They look happy, healthy.

Iris stands next to Barry, as he marvels at their children. She hears his breath catch and places a hand on his back.

“God, they’re so beautiful Iris.”

Iris inhales deeply. “Yeah, they are,” she replies, voice choked.

“Just like you.”

Iris laughs. “Yeah, well I can’t take all the credit. Aside from your hair color, they have your green eyes. And your intelligence, too.“

"Really?”

Iris nods. “They’re only in first grade, but they’re already driving their teacher crazy with all of the questions and..” Iris trails off, when she realizes Barry isn’t standing next to her anymore.

She turns to see him sitting in the rocking chair, hand perched over his mouth. He’s trying to hold it together, but failing miserably.

“Barry?” She asks as she approaches him.

He looks up to her with glossy eyes. “I can’t believe I miss this…all of this. I can’t believe I leave you to raise our family alone.”

“Oh, Barry,” she says. It’s her turn to comfort him. Even though her reserves are near empty, it feels natural to her.

He sniffs. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“I know, Barry. I know,” is all she can manage, without breaking down completely.

Barry sees the struggle on her end to curb her emotions. There’s something innate about the way she can curb her outbursts in the presence of their kids. No matter how admirable, it’s a skill she learned from necessity, as a single mom.

Iris’s display of strength is enough for him to refocus his energy. He didn’t come here to gain pity from Iris about the life he’s going to miss out on. She has more than enough on her plate. He should be the one offering her some comfort.

He lets out a deep breath, wipes his face, and stands. Iris stands in front of him, as awkward silence wafts between them.

He can almost hear the “what now,” that’s dancing on the tip of her tongue, but she’s not brave enough to allow those words to meet the air. He’s unsure of what comes next, but he knows one thing for here: he can’t bear to leave her yet.

A day, a week, or even a month won’t make up for the life she has to live alone now, but he honestly feels like he needs to offer her something. And if he’s being really honest, he needs this time with her too.

“I’d love to see the rest of your place,” he says.

To his surprise, she smiles. “I’d like that.”

She’s so damn beautiful when she smiles, especially when it’s genuine.

“At least until the time wraiths come to rip me to shreds,” he responds, with a laugh.

Barry realizes his mistake before the last syllable is out of his mouth, but her audible gasp and sharp turn out of her children’s room, so she can let out her turmoil, makes it indisputable.

“Iris wait,” he half-whispers, half yells, as he chases after her. “Iris!” He yells, once the twins are out of earshot, “I’m sorry, I was just trying to make you laugh.”

She turns, abrupt, almost colliding with him. “Yeah, well making jokes about you dying isn’t the way to do that,” she says with a wicked scowl, that is fueled more by pain, than actual anger. “I re-live your death every single night, Barry. Every night!”

“I know. And I’m sorry,” he croaks, as he pulls her into him.

She falls into his arms, resting her head onto his chest.

“I’m so, so sorry.”

“I know,” she whimpers. “I’m sorry too.”

Barry tightens the grip on her, pulling her closer. He runs his hands up and down her back, to comfort her further.

His actions are completely innocent, but just the feeling of being back in his arms elicits memories of having his hands roam over her body.

It’s been six years since she and Barry, of her time, made love. It’s been six years since she made love at all.

Her crying ceases at once, as she loses time in memories of their former life together, how gentle, yet rough he was with her, the way she would cry out his name in pleasure.

Barry heeds the mood change, though he doesn’t yet sense where her head is at yet and breaks their hug.

It takes only their eyes meeting for him to know what’s coming next. Her lips are on his before he completes the thought. Ravishing nipping, succulent pecks, and after a moment, once every bit of hesitation falls away from his body,  a determined tongue, pushing its way into his mouth, dead set on giving her just a single moment of pleasure, in a land of everlasting pain and loss.

Iris doesn’t care that he belongs to her former self, or that her heart isn’t strong enough to handle losing him twice.

There is only one thing that is certain, only one thing that matters: She needs this…him…this time together.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felt like this was an appropriate time to pick this story back up! Please let me know what you think! Thanks :)

**Author's Note:**

> Iris is in her late 30s in this story. I didn't put too much thought into the year to be honest because who knows if Barry is actually going to disappear in 2024 or not, after the teaser for the crisis story-line being moved up.


End file.
